Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives (5 page)

"What are you doing here, Juno?" he asks bluntly, seated before an oversized sentinel pine desk. His tone doesn't catch me off guard exactly
– Father has always been a blunt man–but it still isn't the greeting I was expecting. After today, and with all the rumors flying around, I thought for sure he'd be
dying
to see me. 

"Well?" he asks, cold eyes boring into my own. I'm drawing a blank. I
’d expected him to start grilling me immediately. Was he waiting for me to confess about the beach? That wouldn't be like him. Father never beats around the bush. My eyes dart around the room, finding the only object on the walls that even remotely catches my eye anymore. Something called a ‘foto’. It's like a painting, but not. Father says it’s a snapshot of real life, like a recorded memory put to paper. The foto is ancient, ripped and weathered, depicting a young family in front of a strange looking home. It's like something out of a child's fantasy. The family wears strange garments emblazoned with even more bizarre symbology.

But they seem happy.

"Juno? What's the matter with you?"

I tear my eyes from the foto and back onto my
Father. Even sitting down, he's an imposing figure, taller than most men and rail thin. A graying moustache droops in cascades from his upper lip, hanging to just below his chin. He's still wearing his High Deacon surcoat, but its wrinkled and dirty and... Is that a blood stain?

I finally find my voice. "I... I just wanted to make sure you're alright, that's all. I heard about Thomas at work." I'm testing the waters here, seeing what my
Father knows. He'd call me out right away if he knew I'd actually been
at
the Judgment.

"Oh," he replies, his face melting from a scowl to a deep frown.
"I suppose you would have. Listen, Juno, I already had this discussion with Traylor. I can't tell you everything, but know that what was done, was done for the good of Krakelyn. It was a regrettable thing, and the hardest Judgment I've had to make since your Mother."

I wince at the mention of her but, again, I'm used to this type of forthrightness from my
Father. He knows my feelings on the subject, but I've learned to look past it when we're together. It took a long time for me to do that though. "I'm sorry it had to happen," I tell him, genuine sympathy in my tone. "I, um, well, I've heard all the rumors flying around. A mutant in the city." My Father nods. "There isn't anything I should be concerned about, is there?"

Without hesitation, my
Father shakes his head. "No, Juno, it's been taken care of. Everything is alright." He pauses, meeting my eyes with a warmer glance and a hint of a smile. From his creaky old chair, he reaches out and takes my hand. "Do me a favor and go check on your brother for me. I know you weren't close to Thomas, but Traylor was in positive hysterics when I came home. I think he may have seen the Judgment this morning."

I smirk, trying not to give away too much. "It
would
be like him to disobey your orders," I reply. I lean down and give the old man a kiss on the forehead. "Don't work yourself too hard," I say, "you need to grieve too." He squeezes my hand in thanks but says nothing, only nods and turns back to the stack of parchment on his desk. That's as much cue as I get that the conversation is over.

I slip quietly out of the study, closing the door, stopping in the hallway and breathing hard in time to my hammering heart.

Why hadn't he asked me about the beach? And Jude? 

He
must
know that I have that strange metal Box from Everwinter hidden away. Thomas would have told him. So why didn't he call me out on it? Did Thomas Whiskeyjack die because of what we found? If so, why? Father
had
to have heard the rumor about me and Jude. So why didn't he ask me about it? Selfish hope rises in my chest. If my Father went to all these lengths to protect me, he may have instructed the Deacons to lay off us as well. And if that rash on Jude's cheek clears up quickly enough, all just might be well! Thomas Whiskeyjack's dying face flashes through my mind in that moment.

Yeah, but at what cost?

With these thoughts racing through my brain, I traverse the hall once more, pausing momentarily at the entrance to Traylor's room. He's moved around since I'd first come by, but he still appears to be out cold. I keep going, down to the other end of the Manse where my own room is situated. I open the door and slip inside, my large, down filled mattress calling to me immediately.

There's nothing more I want to do in that moment than
to flop down on the bed, but there's something else I have to do first. I head straight for the window, seeing with a smile that a new sunvisor has been installed. My old one broke a couple days ago. I took the blame for it, saying I had trouble getting it to roll back up. The truth was I'd accidentally kicked it loose climbing onto the roof. Father wouldn't let me cover the window for two days afterward as a lesson.

Live and learn.

Or not.

I roll the visor up, going easy,
pushing the shutters wide. I take a quick glance into the yard to be sure no servants are in the yard below and quickly hoist myself onto the sill. I look over and see that the window into Traylor's room is shut tight. He won't hear me. I grasp the eave with my hands and push off hard with my feet, propelling them onto the rooftop. It's not a graceful act, but I've done it enough times that it hardly poses a problem anymore. It's a lot harder when I'm actually trying to bring something up here with me. 

T
his is where I stash my stuff from the beach, after all.

I'm
up on the roof in seconds, my hands grimy from grasping the gutter. I wipe them on my pants and tread carefully up the pitch. Most houses in Krakelyn have roofs constructed of thatch, but ours, of course, is topped with a series of wooden tiles tucked up under one another in rows, the advantage being that the tiles have to be replaced a lot less often than thatch. But they're expensive as hell. I tiptoe across the tiles, using my hands for purchase as I clamber up the steep grade. I reach what remains of a square brick structure near the top. An old chimney. I don't even know where it ends up inside the house. The top of the chimney is covered by a wooden panel that I constructed myself. I lift it off, revealing a large cubby hidden within. Jude built a floor for me inside the chimney–he's really good at building stuff–and I climb inside, enveloped in shade.

I'm inside my stash.

I pull a filthy old blanket aside, revealing the wealth of Forerunner treasures I’ve managed to squirrel away over the past year. There's a piece of a reflecting glass; a ball made from a soft, yet durable material; books written in languages no one in Eversummer can understand; metal sheets that are neither rusted nor weakened by age; a female doll constructed of a similar material as the ball; a few containers, like cups, but again made of a hard yet pliable substance; a few fotos and images ripped from books; bizarre clothing fashioned of indefinite materials; and the shiny, metal Box.

The Box we found on the beach yesterday.

Unconsciously, I reach out to touch it just as Jude had, but stop myself when I realize what I'm doing. The memory of that bright flash of light is burned into my mind. Along with Jude's scream as the light seared the side of his face. Disgusted and fearful, I spit at the object and cover it back up quickly.

I just wanted to check
that it was still there, that’s all.

The real problem is gonna be figuring out what to do with such a dangerous artifact. But that problem can wait 'til morning. I'll find Jude, and we'll decide if it's safe for him to come out of hiding. With a yawn, I crawl out of the chimney, replace the wooden cover, and stealthily retreat to my room.

I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.

6.

He waits a few minutes, just to make sure, th
en pushes the shutters wide as his sister had moments before. Traylor isn't stupid; he knows Juno has a stash of Forerunner objects up on the roof. After all, it's what he would do if he were tasked with cleaning up the garbage on that beach. The loss of Thomas Whiskeyjack still weighs heavy on his heart, but the pain recedes to a dull throb in the back of his mind as the excitement of finding out what Juno and Jude found yesterday overtakes it. Other than Thomas' death, he'd thought about little else all day.

Traylor climbs onto the window ledge and grasps the eave, swinging his legs up with more grace than Juno had
formerly exhibited. He barely makes a sound. He waits another moment to be sure no one sees him, then darts up the sloped roof toward the ancient chimney. He's there is seconds, lifting the wooden panel away.
Juno really should be more careful with this stuff
, he thinks, clambering into the hole himself. He pulls the blanket away, revealing a trove of stuff he's seen plenty of times before, and one thing he's
never
seen.

"What is this?" he grumbles to himself in amazem
ent. It looks like a simple box; pure, silvery metal, perfectly made.

"There must be a way to open it."
 

Traylor reaches out with his right hand and, as his skin makes contact, an electric shock jolts through him like a snakebite. "Ow!" he snarls, pulling his hand up
to his mouth. That really hurt! Anger boils within him.

Anger over Thomas' death.

Traylor feels like he's had so little control over his life lately, and here is this stupid box, an inanimate object, taunting him.

"I
will
get you open," he vows, reaching over to the box again. This time, he wraps the blanket around his hands, picking the object up directly. It vibrates in his grasp, but it can't shock him through the material. "Ha!" Traylor laughs, triumphant. "Now, how do I open–"

But it's too late.

With a flash of skin searing light, the box opens by itself, and Traylor remembers no more.

7.

One Month Later.

A cloaked figure moves about the streets of Krakelyn at night. We call it
night
in Eversummer, but there is actually nothing to distinguish it from day because the sun never leaves the sky. We call it night, because it’s the time when everyone usually sleeps. Sleeping hours, we call them more often than not. But lately, people haven't been sleeping so well. Of course, it doesn’t help that over half of Krakelyn is dead. 

Suicides mostly.

The cloak I'm wearing is oversized–it was my Father's–but that's kind of the point. It covers my face and body completely. I'm not the only one who goes about like this these days, though we're fast becoming a minority. I've been in hiding since the Final Judgment–that's what people are calling the day that Traylor opened the Box–but since my return to Krakelyn, I've been hearing rumors of a gang that doesn't take too kindly to people masking their deformities. Children of Mutanity they call themselves. A play on the words ‘mutant’ and ‘humanity’, I guess.

I've yet to see them
for myself.

If the rumors are true,
then this supposed gang would sure be anathema to all that the people of Eversummer previously stood for. It makes sense though, in a twisted sort of way. After all, after centuries of believing we were doing the will of the gods by weeding out the imperfections in our bloodlines–the True Body Plan–the gods turn around and do
this
to us. What are people supposed to think? Perhaps we had the TBP all wrong. Maybe mutations are the will of the gods, and what we think of as perfection is actually ugly and evil.

Maybe, but I don't believe it.

I'm angling my way toward the Manse, taking an indirect route so it’s not as obvious as to where I'm headed. Just in case. Our house has been at the center of a lot of hatred and violence since the Final Judgment. People want answers, and my Father has none. I still remember my Father's face, starkly gaunt and fearful, pocked with bleeding tumors and peeling skin when he ordered me to go into hiding after the Final Judgment. He told me to stay away as long as possible, to hide somewhere no one would think to find me. He had the servants pack rations in a tote and sent me away before things got really bad. I slipped off our property into the woods, never experiencing the devastation of Krakelyn firsthand. I could faintly hear the screams as I left though, accompanied by black smoke and the warm glow of massive fires off in the distance.

Krakelyn was burning.

Leaving was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I kept my back turned and made my way to the beach. There was nothing else I could do. The first few days, I constantly second guessed my choice of hideout–a small cave just off the shoreline. I thought for sure someone would come looking for me. But no one did. In fact, I heard not a sound from the direction of Krakelyn the entire month I was in exile. It was hard, but I stayed away as long as I could.

A
month was all I could handle.

I kept clinging to the hope that Jude might find his way here. Surely he would have asked my
Father where I was.